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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617677">how much</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpaan/pseuds/melonpaan'>melonpaan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>there’s an exhibit in all the wrong places [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Feelings, Implied Drug Use, Outdoor Sex, Plot Undercover Plot, bar sex, discord made me do it, i just wanted to write about tits what happened, made up bomb mechanics, please don't take this too seriously, something something alleyway, transactional sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:28:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,462</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpaan/pseuds/melonpaan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey,” Reno burbles, burps. “How much to touch your tits?”</p><p>Reno makes a deal in a dark alleyway, and gets way more than he bargains for. But what’s he got to lose?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tifa Lockhart/Reno</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>there’s an exhibit in all the wrong places [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>how much</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouncymouse/gifts">bouncymouse</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribbleness/gifts">Scribbleness</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Reno is high, coked out of his mind and drunk as fuck and yet all this does nothing for him because he’s itching for a fight, itching for work, but he’s still on indefinite suspension for being too unstable or some dumb shit. Is he supposed to feel bad that he shocked one of Corneo’s rotten scumfuckers into a coma? After seeing what he did to that kid and his ma? </p><p>Okay, maybe, because now they’re outta leads and he’s outta drugs <i>and</i> cigarettes and his high is winding down and Reno stares up at his ceiling, at the circular, flickering lamplight overhead, the bulb lit up in the center of it, and a new craving rears its demanding, horny head. </p><p>Fuck, he wants to touch some tits. </p><p>So he jams his keys and wallet into his pockets and heads out into the nippy fall air to catch a train to Wall Market. And then promptly passes out with his legs splayed wide across three seats. The attendant jerks him awake at the last stop and Reno finds himself in—ugh, Sector 7? Truly the worst of all the Sectors, damn. He could’ve at least scored some weed in Sector 5. </p><p>But maybe he can get some cigs and a pack of beer and a room somewhere because it’s too cold this time of year to slum it in the Slums. He manages to find a corner store to buy exactly that, stumbles through an alleyway already swigging a beer, following directions to a room at <i>Stardicking Highs</i> or whatever. But as he rounds the corner he sees something he wants infinitely more.</p><p><i>Tits</i>. Big honking ones snug in a skin-tight white crop top, connected by leather suspenders to an itty bitty black miniskirt. And matching black thigh highs. All attached to a head of luxuriously shiny black hair, swept off bare shoulders into a low hanging ponytail, bent over a trash bin, hands reaching in to collect multi-colored tin cans to place neatly into a plastic garbage bag by scuffed red high tops. He chugs the rest of his beer and tosses the can clean, swish, straight into her bag—or he means to, anyway. It clanks pathetically onto the ground and she startles, looks at him with big, luminous red eyes and a mouth made of sin.</p><p>“You can have that one.” He doesn’t make any effort not to stare straight at her tits again. </p><p>“Uh, thanks, I guess,” she mutters, bending over to tuck it into her bag. Bouncy, bouncy, juicy fucking melons, damn. She shoots him a skittery look, before continuing to pick through the trash, but well, he figures, what’s he got to lose? </p><p>“Hey,” Reno burbles, burps. “How much to touch your tits?”</p><p>Her head snaps up again at that, a look of absolute affront painted across her face. Aw shit, a prude, then, what a waste of perfectly good tits. But then her eyes blaze and she stalks over to him, trailing her garbage bag along the ground with her, and he notices too late the metal affixed to the tops of the fingerless gloves on her hands. Aw shit, a prude who can fight.</p><p>She stops directly before him, eyebrows drawn thick and angry, pinched above the brow of her nose, all set to give him a stern scolding which, honestly, okay, he’s kinda still digging the hot librarian vibes too, judging by his raging hard on. She opens her fiery little mouth and he braces himself for cutting words that don’t quite land. “Five hundred gil.”</p><p>The rest of his six pack crashes to the floor. “You serious?”</p><p>“Well,” she sniffs, turns on her heel in an instant, “if you don’t have the money, you don’t—”</p><p>He catches her by the arm and feels toned muscle, all steel beneath the surface. It’s really fucking sexy. “I didn’t say I didn’t have the money. I just think that’s a goddamn bargain.”</p><p>He might still be too high, but it almost looks like she blushes. “Money first.” He’s already got his wallet out, and after she counts his bills, she counts ’em again to make sure, before they disappear into one of the many pockets of her skirt. When she looks up at him again, there’s way less sass and a touch of uncertainty. “Just touching right?”</p><p>“Just touching,” he agrees, and then his hands are on her, crushing her to the alley wall, pushing aside crop top and black training bra and all, leaving her suspenders taught and straining against the bunched up fabric.</p><p>“H-here?” She gasps, surprised, but he barely registers it over her bare tits bouncing free into his palms, round and soft and <i>real</i> and fuck if that’s rare. Her nipples are a pale pink and they harden into gorgeous little buds as the cool air hits ’em. He presses his thumbs into them and purrs, spreads his fingers wide but his hands are overflowing, kneads them, presses them together, watches them swell and bounce against gravity he’s mesmerized by their perfection, scrapes his nails against her nipples. She gasps again but this time it’s husky deep as she’s twitching beneath him and fuck she’s getting off on this too. Flicks her nipples again and the sound from those lips is absolutely filthy.</p><p>“How much to suck ’em?”</p><p>“A th-thousand,” she pants as he rolls her nipples slowly between his thumb and index fingers, her body humming in anticipation.</p><p>“How much to suck me?”</p><p>“<i>Not enough money in the world</i>.”</p><p>“Sold,” he whispers, pinning her wrists to the wall and lowering his mouth for a taste.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Reno dreams about tits. Big, firm, round tits bouncing around in his head all night. Dreams about squeezing them, sucking on them, being squeezed <i>by</i> them. Wakes up and immediately shoves his hands down his pants and jerks himself off to the memory of them. Again. Rinses in the sink and skims his tongue against his teeth and remembers how she’d simpered and sighed against his mouth. Damn, and they were one hundred percent real fucking woman tits, too.</p><p>Not that he’d ever discriminate against any, tits are tits are tits are tits, and he’ll do right by them all. But now it’s like his eyes have been opened, like he’s gotten a taste of the good stuff—some damn good stuff. Like when Rude orders a single glass of Pinot Noir versus the three to six glasses of house shit that Reno usually gets because what does it matter so long as it gets him fucked up drunk—it all gets pissed out the same way, anyway. What had Rude called himself? Ah. A “connoisseur.” Reno is now a grade DDD certified tits connoisseur and he really, really wants another taste. </p><p>He doesn’t even know her name. While he was slobbering all over her, she got a phone call and a mean look crossed her face and she quickly pushed his mouth away, stowed her tits, took his second payment and peaced. Left him with a now yellowing bruise just under his jaw that still smarts.</p><p>Damn. What a woman.</p><p>Well, back to the work suspension grind. It’s noon, which means he has just enough time to swing back home for a change of clothes and still catch the matinee at the Honey Bee Inn, which comes with a late lunch special. So he goes and enjoys the <i>food</i> food and the eye food and someone recognizes that he’s a Turk so he gets a private room with a special show, and it’s good, don’t get him wrong, and the bee, well, she gets him off. He won’t discriminate when there are writhing tits shiny with honey in front of him, begging to be tasted. But, he’s a tits connoisseur now and he’s still left hungry afterward. So he stays long enough for the dinner special, too.</p><p>By nightfall he’s catching the train and maybe takes the wrong one on purpose, strolls through twisting roads until he meanders down a familiar alleyway for no real reason or expectation. His pants tighten instantly when he spies a familiar head of black hair and a less familiar but no less delicious ass. He walks catlike on the balls of his feet until he’s right behind her, drawls into her ear, “So, you a garbage woman or what?</p><p>She flinches, whirls around to face him and the plastic bag falls from her hands, sending cans scattering onto the concrete. What a mean glare.</p><p>“What? I ain’t belittling you or nothing, just wondering.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and, actually, does a really good job of looking only into her smoldering eyes. </p><p>She doesn’t say a word, the silent treatment, eh? That’s fine. His gaze flickers to her tits and she scowls in his periphery, bends over to retrieve her bag and her cans and basically presents her perky ass to him, then instantly straightens upon realizing it. </p><p>“So, what do you do when you’re not a garbage woman?”</p><p>“I beat up assholes.” It would sound more like a threat if she wasn’t now crab-walking to the other side of the garbage can, hiding her ass from sight. Then she’s back to digging through the trash without realizing that this angle gives him a better view of her tits, bless. </p><p>“You beat up assholes, huh?” What does it mean that his pants stretch tighter at that? “In that short little number of yours?” It’s the same getup she wore yesterday, a scrap of a crop top and a deliciously short skirt, but this time the skirt and the thigh highs are a deep shade of red, like fancy wine red, and he wonders if she always matches. Her bra was black yesterday.</p><p>“It’s for movement.” She slams a can into her bag viciously. “And it gets <i>hot</i> when you fight.” She gives him a once over with a sneer. “But maybe you don’t know anything about it with that delicate twig waist of yours.” </p><p>“Ouch,” he chuckles. Is that the worst she’s got? “So, Miss Hot Garbage Woman.” She rolls her eyes. “Why you rooting around in the trash?”</p><p>“I’m <i>recycling</i>. It’s good for the planet. Maybe you should try it.”</p><p>“The planet, huh? What’s it ever done for me?”</p><p>She huffs and ties her garbage bag with an angry knot that nearly shreds it to pieces. Damn. “Can I <i>help</i> you?”</p><p>“I think you know the answer to that.” He’s leering openly and a flush rises to her pretty cheeks. </p><p>“I think you need to leave.”</p><p>“Got nowhere to go.”</p><p>“Okay, then <i>I’ll</i> leave. Goodbye,” she says, hauling her garbage bag behind her, chin held high as she walks past.</p><p>But he catches her by the wrist before she can get any further. “I think your nipples betray you.” She glances down and he follows her line of sight to beautiful blooming buds against white cotton.</p><p>“I-it’s cold outside.”</p><p>“Thought you said you were hot.” </p><p>“I—”</p><p>“You’re right though.” He grazes a thumb against her nipple, gives it a hard tweak and she shudders. “You’re really fucking hot.” </p><p>But somehow she doesn’t stop him from taking her other nipple in hand, even though they both know she could easily stop him, and fuck if that’s the biggest turn on of all. He relishes the twinge in his jaw as he forges on, slides the suspenders off her shoulders to slap limply against her thighs, moves to the hem of her shirt and—her grip on his forearm is made of iron. Damn.</p><p>“Not here,” she murmurs, pulling him toward the alleyway and <i>fuck</i>. </p><p>“My hands or my mouth?”</p><p>“Anything. Both.”</p><p>Both it is. She backs herself against the wall and he sucks hard on a nipple through the fabric of her shirt until it’s soaking wet and, well, there’s his answer, she’s not wearing a bra fuck him all over. He rolls her shirt up and sticks it into her mouth to surprisingly little protest, sinks his fingers into her skin and kneads, palm flat and rubbing aching friction against her and she exhales heavily, he cranes his neck against the straining fabric of her shirt to skim his teeth against her jaw, run his tongue along her neck and she tastes so salty sweet addictive. He tweaks her nipples and she arches her back, rubbing her thighs desperately together. And Reno follows her cues, trails his hand down and under her skirt, presses his thumb softly against the front of her panties and feels it damp and willing.</p><p>Her eyes are luminous red, darkening as he moves his thumb to skim her pantyline. He croaks—<i>he</i> croaks, just who the fuck is this broad. “How much to touch you?” Hooks a finger into the fabric and tugs, letting in the cold. She practically vibrates as she wets her lips. “T-two thousand. All cash.”</p><p>“You really undersell yourself,” he sighs, but he’s not gonna turn down a bargain. Quickly latches onto a nipple with his mouth and pushes her panties to the side, lets his thumb roam free against her pulsing clit, and she’s so fucking wet it’s delicious he did that he’s doing that and she moans and fuck, she’s gonna call some attention and she seems to know it too, balls up the front of her shirt and stuffs it back into her mouth and goddamn it drives him wild, tongue and fingers working overtime, over every curve and fold and that sweet swollen bud and he sticks a finger straight in and her breath stutters and—</p><p>Her phone rings. </p><p>The shirt falls from her mouth again, unraveling slowly over Reno’s nose. And she looks so—conflicted, horny, sexy dismayed.  </p><p>“Pick it up,” he rasps against her skin, and her teeth catch on her bottom lip, suddenly all bashful and shit. “It’s gonna attract unwanted attention.” </p><p>She nods, reaches for the phone at her hip and flips it open. “Hello? Jes—sie!” She squeaks because he’s delicately circling her walls with his finger, scowls at him and that just makes him smile wider. “N-no, I’m fine. How are y-you?” She shudders as he slowly stretches her out, adds a second finger and thrusts lazily, just once. “Mm<i>hm</i>! I should be able to get—” Starts pumping in and out slowly and her breath becomes ragged. “That. Not a problem. I even got more.” She’s so fucking wet and tight and that she’s still in control of her voice won’t do, won’t do at all, so he plunges his fingers in deep and deeper still to rub against that sweet hidden cluster of explosive nerves. She has to hold the phone away from her face as she shudders, bucks, writhes and slams her other fist back against the wall but he’s relentlessly chasing her high, even as she clears her throat and brings the phone back over. “No, don’t worry about it. It’s no—t a big deal.” He rubs his thumb violently against her clit while still thrusting with his other fingers and her back arches enough to smother his face in her tits, and she’s so desperate she’s clutching at his shirt with an iron grip <i>now now now</i>, and he complies, succeeds, sees her peaking fast and hard, lips clamped tight and phone bobbing precariously between loose fingers.</p><p>“—ifa? Tifa?” <i>Tifa</i>, huh? “You sure you’re okay? You don’t have to come.”</p><p>“No, I will. I’ll come I’ll—ah, <i>ah</i>—” He swirls his tongue lazily around her nipple before skating it gently with his teeth, makes a split second decision to bite down and her reaction is instantaneous. “I gotta go but I’m co—I’ll COME GOODBYE,” she near shrieks, snapping her phone shut and tossing it to the ground just as his other hand covers her mouth. She comes all around him, all over both his hands, all fight and bluster, teeth sharp enough to bruise. Goddamn.</p><p>He strokes her through the aftershocks until she’s jolting and twitching away from his touch, resting her back heavy against the wall, unable to stand on her own shaky legs. Her eyes are glazed over with pure ecstasy, and when he removes his last hand from her lips, they’re shiny and red and really fucking kissable. </p><p>So he fucking kisses her.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>His wallet is a few hundred shy of two-thousand gil, so he offers to go find an ATM. Except he doesn’t know where to find an ATM in this becoming-less-shitty-by-the-night Sector, so she offers, awkwardly, to accompany him. There is still a large wet patch of saliva all over the front of her shirt, over a still puckered nipple, of which he’s immensely proud. But it probably won’t do for her to walk around the slums like that, so he shucks off his jacket and tosses it at her head. “Lead the way.”</p><p>“Um. I’m not cold.” She’s back to looking all doe-eyed and cute and shit, fingering the leather lining of the jacket hesitantly. </p><p>“Yeah, well, I’m hot, too,” he grumbles, jamming one hand into his pocket, the other picking up her garbage bag and hauling it over his shoulder. She chuckles at that, a tinkling, pleasant little sound. “Wrong way—over here.” She glides down the other end of the alleyway, slipping into his jacket as she goes. Even from behind it doesn’t surprise him how damn good she looks in it. The wind picks up just as they spill out into the streets, biting at his chest, and he surreptitiously buttons up a bit further, follows her all the way to a convenience store, where a graffiti-riddled ATM sits between it and a line of outdoor food stalls. He puts in his pin and in his periphery is a bit surprised to see her looking up and away, giving him privacy. For someone who seems so hard up for cash, she sure is noble about it. Or maybe she just wants to work for her money. Or <i>be</i> worked. He smirks, counts out the bills and hands them over, glares at some passersby who peer curiously at their transaction, at <i>her</i> as she counts the bills out, too.</p><p>She stashes it away into her skirt again, and then seems to catch sight of something, flickers her eyes down and then immediately back up toward the sky. He’s been rock hard since the alleyway and straining against his zipper and he’s not at all ashamed of it. Remembers her slick’s still on his fingers, probably wiped onto the bills he handed over, now resting in a pocket too close to that tight little pussy and throbs all over again. Wonders if she has a price for that, too.</p><p>“Okay, well, thanks.” She pushes a lock of thick glossy hair behind her ear and he’s caught off guard by how suddenly tiny she looks, swallowed up in his jacket, the length of the arms covers her hands near entirely. Out of the alleyway and under the fairy lights hanging off the outdoor stalls, she looks so much softer, vulnerable. Even if he knows she’s all wiry muscle running through arms that could chokehold him. Goddamn does that sound delightful. “So—” </p><p>He’s hungry in more ways than one, but his stomach is louder than his cock. He shrugs. “Any of these joints good?”</p><p>“Um, the hotdogs from <i>Chocodog</i>.” She points toward the end of the stalls and makes to remove his jacket, but he doesn’t want her to do that just yet. </p><p>“C’mon, you must be hungry, too. My treat.” It’s only fair. Didn’t pay her for that searing kiss, after all. </p><p>“No, I really shouldn’t—”  </p><p>Another rumble, but it’s too cute to be his. “Your stomach betrays you.”</p><p>“They’re just really good hotdogs, okay?” she sniffs, dropping her hands from the buttons of his jacket and stalking toward the stall. </p><p>He catches up, walks in lock step with her. “So, what’s good?” </p><p>“You like spice?” </p><p>“Life’s nothing without it.”</p><p>Her lips curl at that. “Hope you don’t regret it.”</p><p>He regrets it. She orders two dogs with everything on it, level seven spice, and the first bite burns down the back of his throat, but he crams half of it in before he chokes, splutters, tries to wash it down with the soda he ordered, but the carbonation makes it hurt worse. She laughs while handing him her chocolate milkshake, says sweetly, deviously, “Told you so,” as he lets icy, cool numbness spread over his tongue.</p><p>He croaks—again! “Delicious.”</p><p>“Mmhm.” Her eyes sparkle as she folds the length of his sleeves over themselves so that she can free her hands from their confines, brings the hotdog to her mouth and opens them wide and ready around the whole thing and damn. He’s staring. There’s a bit of sauce on the side of her mouth and he’s staring. Chews and swallows without so much as a cough, puckers those kissable lips around the straw of her milkshake and sucks deep and long and—he is still, in fact, staring. He watches her pound the entire dog before wiping at her mouth with a napkin, all dainty-like. She’s sucking on her milkshake again when her eyes find his, glancing down at his lap and his half-eaten dog with a frown. Her lips pop sinfully free from plastic. “I thought you were hungry?” </p><p>He is and he’s throbbing for it, is about to make another proposition when her phone rings again. She startles, hastily props it open against her ear. “Hello?” Her milkshake is teetering on her lap so he takes it, lets his fingers graze the skin of her bare thighs, lingers when he realizes she doesn’t notice at all. He pulls back and takes a long sip of her drink, watches her teeth worry at her bottom lip. “Sorry, I got a little caught up. I’ll be there soon.”</p><p>He barely hears the other side of the conversation, a gruff male voice. “You said you were coming.”</p><p>“I did—” He cackles and she splutters adorably, adds, “<i>Say</i> that.” Shoots him <i>a look</i>, bats at him with her other hand and he dodges twice before letting her smack him straight in the chest on the third. It smarts but it’s worth it. Before she can pull away, he takes it in hand to study slim, calloused fingers, runs the pads of his against the blunt edge of leather, against sharp metal teeth. She shivers. “I’ll be right over.”</p><p>When she shuts her phone it’s like the flick of a switch, and she quickly loosens her hand from his grasp. “Thanks for the meal, but I gotta go now.”</p><p>She doesn’t get up from the sidewalk and neither does he.</p><p>“So, what do you do, <i>Tifa</i>?” And where does Tifa gotta go?</p><p>Her eyes balloon wide in suspicion and he chuckles, taps the side of his head. “Good ears.”</p><p>“O-oh.” She rubs the back of her head sheepishly. “A bar—I um, own a bar.”</p><p>“No shit.” He whistles lowly, a planet loving, asshole beating, business owner. Just who is this woman? “Ya got any Pinot?” </p><p>“<i>What</i>?” She flushes like he didn’t just fingerfuck her in the alleyway thirty minutes ago. Really, who is this woman?</p><p>“<i>Wine</i>,” he emphasizes, and she laughs nervously. </p><p>“Duh, of course I—oh, no. No, no, you can’t,” she splutters, crumpling her garbage into a tight little ball before hopping to her feet. </p><p>“Just one drink. As a paying customer.” He catches her by his sleeves and grins. “You know I’m good for it.” </p><p>She worries at her bottom lip again and draws a bit of blood. Goddamn how he wants to lick it clean.</p><p>“Reno.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Only fair if you have my name, too, right?”</p><p>Tifa sighs heavily and shoots him a warning look. “<i>One</i> drink.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>Seventh Heaven is a large, looming, western-style building made of all wood and no concrete, a rare wonder even in the undercity. It’s booming when she relieves the current bartender, an overly cheerful fellow wearing a red bandana—<i>Wedge</i>, she greets. Reno slinks in just after her, follows her toward the bar counter and chooses the stool on the furthest side. She pours him a glass without looking him in the eye and then proceeds to ignore him entirely in favor of her regulars, preparing and pouring drinks without asking orders. The mood in the bar seems to lift instantly in her presence, and it’s so much warmer and brighter with her in it.</p><p>Huh. Just how strong is this Pinot? He tries to drink the rest of it slow, but he’s not good at pacing himself, asks for another and down that goes too. She’s so busy she doesn’t even notice he’s two past his one drink maximum, but when it’s nearing midnight and the crowds are still full and bawdy and she’s been running around on her feet all night, he swigs the last of his wine before circling the bar counter, pops the flip door up and places his glass into an overflowing bin of used dishes. </p><p>She blinks as he hauls the entire thing into his hands. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“It’s busy, let me help.” </p><p>“<i>Why</i>?” She blocks his way toward the kitchen’s double door entrance, eyes narrowed in mute disbelief and fuck if he knows. But holding down a full bar all alone seems tiring. She seems tired. Besides, he’s kind of wondering what she’s doing after the bar closes and wants an excuse to find out.</p><p>“What, you think you’re the only one who’s ever worked a bar?” </p><p>Her eyebrows pinch, but one of the tables calls for another round of shots and off she goes, leaving him to the kitchen, where he rolls up his sleeves and gets to sudsing. They work with and around each other pretty well in the confined space of the bar, all things considered. She fills bins and he takes ’em to wash, sometimes pours beers when she’s shaking up fancy cocktails. Sometimes her hands brush against his arm when reaching for a slice of lime and sometimes his accidentally brush against the small of her back, down her spine, and perhaps not accidentally along the swell of her ass. </p><p>After last call, it’s nearly three in the morning when there’s finally just a single, snoring patron in a booth by the doors. A single, snoring patron in the way.</p><p>“Want me to kick him out?” </p><p>“Nah, I’ll let Biggs do it when he gets back. He always walks Mr. Peterson home,” she says, wiping down the counter with a rag. </p><p>“So, you’re done for the night?” </p><p>“Seems like it.”</p><p>“You sure about that?” He takes out his wallet and counts out enough gil for three drinks and a hefty tip, hooks his fingers against the band of her skirt and slides the bills cool against her skin as she watches, mouth parted, breath held. His hand travels lower, under her skirt to fully palm an ass cheek, gives it a firm squeeze.</p><p>“I’m sure,” she repeats evenly, though her knees buckle a little. He trades his hand for his cock as he presses against her back, presses her into the counter, fingers traveling toward the front of her waist, skimming the skin just above her panties.</p><p>She gasps, bucks, buckles a little more. “Mr. Peterson—” </p><p>“Won’t wake up if you don’t make a sound.” He waits, fingers hovering just close enough to feel the combined warmth between their skin, but he wants her to say so, wants her to want it. Him. He’s breathing rough and ragged against her ear when she moves, just the barest, imperceptible nod and his fingers spring to action, only this time he’s sliding her panties completely down, tugs them over the tops of her thigh highs to puddle atop her shoes, restricting her movement. And like lightning he’s crouching down and sliding under her ass backwards, glancing up to see her shocked, coloring face.</p><p>“What—” she hisses, but dissolves into a breathy moan once he settles his hands firmly onto her ass cheeks and pulls her onto his face and tastes. He drowns in her pussy, runs his tongue flat and long over delectable pink folds, can hardly believe how fucking wet and hot and delicious she is he’s completely ravenous, smears and slides his face wetly against her slick. He flicks the tip of his tongue against her clit again and again as she pants heavily above him, until it swells and engorges and he can take it between his lips and <i>suck</i>. And oh how she writhes, rides him like a fucking cowgirl, and the only thing keeping her upright apart from his hands on her ass is his mouth, because her legs are wrecked and completely useless and that’s how he wants the rest of her, too. And she’s nearly there, thrusting into face, his tongue diving in as deep as he can and then— </p><p>The door chimes and her elbows slam onto the counter. </p><p>“Tifa?” </p><p>“Hey Biggs, Wedge, Jessie,” she manages a cheerful, if breathless tone, even though Reno hasn’t let up at all, he’s not good at pacing himself. She kicks him in the thigh as a warning, but all that does is make his cock ache. “Sorry, slipped and banged my elbows.” He removes one hand from her ass to stroke himself through his pants, smirks because she’s definitely noticed judging by the flare of her nostrils. He strokes himself harder at that, matching his pace to his tongue. “Hey Biggs, c-could you wake Mr. Peterson and take him h-home?”</p><p>The doors chime again, signaling an exit, but that means there’s still two of her friends left and how fucking hot would it be to get her off in front of them? He squeezes her ass and she twitches above him.</p><p>“We’re all set for tomorrow. Barret’s gonna be happy.” A feminine voice this time, must be Jessie. A clink and a clank and then a— “Tifa, aren’t you coming?” </p><p>“I will.” She sure as fuck will. He redoubles his efforts. “I—in a bit! I still have to c-c-c-clean up!” </p><p>“You want some help?”</p><p>“No!” Her voice is strained now, so very, very close. He drags his hand from her ass to run along the backs of her thighs. “It’s just a bit more.” </p><p>“Are you okay?” Wedge this time, sounding very concerned. “Is something eating at you?”</p><p>He nearly chokes, lips vibrating in a silent mirth against her folds, and she must feel it reverberate all the way inside her walls, jolts and clamps down, squeezes her thighs around his head so tight his nose is pushed straight into her curls and he’s surrounded by her musky heady scent and it’s better than any high found in a pill or powder, he wants more and more of her, bottle her up he’ll drink her down every night. He bruises his fingers into her thighs to keep her locked in place when she tries to squirm free, tongues her as deep and far as he can go. </p><p>“I—I’m sure,” she stammers, glowering down at him, concentrates on wiping the counter with restrained force.</p><p>“All right then, see you down there.”</p><p>“See you—”</p><p>There’s a whirring metallic sound that Reno can’t really make sense of, but doesn’t care because suddenly she’s panting and bucking all over again, undoing his jacket to palm at her breasts and he can see her hardened nipples even from down here and damn, she’s so gorgeous fucking his face until she keens and crests straight into her second high of the day, slumps her head against the counter to keep her boneless body upright. When she regains her senses, she tries to stumble backwards out of his slackening grip on her ass, but doesn’t quite remember that her ankles are constricted by her underwear. So when she nearly trips backwards, he pulls her in by the calves and the momentum results in both the delicious ripping of fabric and Tifa landing wet and warm and straight into his lap. And if maybe that’s enough to send him over his edge and cream his pants right there, well, so be it. Because her thighs are against his hips and she’s curling into him, arms tucked against his chest, breathing ragged and heavy, forehead damp where it presses against his. And maybe his arms come around to hang loosely, limply, satisfied around her waist. And if maybe he’s died and this is heaven, well, so be it.</p><p>“I—” She pulls back to look at him, pupils blown out and still panting hard. “I gotta go.”</p><p>“Always going, huh?” </p><p>She untangles herself from his arms and stands on shaky legs, stares dumbly down at the ripped panties still around one ankle. He tears it loose with his hand and balls it up into his fist and only then notices there are a handful of gil notes scattered on the floor, probably loosened from her skirt when she was fucking herself on his face. Which reminds him. “So, what do I owe you?” Because if it’s too much, maybe he’ll need to swing by later with the money, when she’s done with her friends. </p><p>She adjusts her skirt as low as it can hang on her hips and doesn’t even look at the money, motions for him to follow her to the bar entrance. “Let’s, ah, call it even.” She unlocks the door and opens it for him to leave, and then realizes she’s still wearing his jacket. Tries to take it off, but he stops her, buttons it up again. “Unless you always walk around your friends, braless.” And now pantyless. He slips the balled up wad into the pocket of his jacket and she colors prettily. Makes him glad she’s not his friend, makes him wonder if she was wanting to be found by him tonight. </p><p>“Thank you.” Her voice is too sweet, too thankful, for such a simple gesture, he glances down to look at her and she lifts her chin and her lips briefly brush against the corner of his mouth. Her eyes widen. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean, I don’t know why—” </p><p>But before he can take her in his arms and crash his lips against hers, she’s pushing him out the door and slamming it in his face.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>The next night, Reno’s banking on another Seventh Heaven bar crawl, packs an overnight bag and a wallet full of bills and is just heading out the door when he gets a call from Tseng. Suspension canceled, just like that. He’s maybe more disappointed than he outta be—he used to <i>live</i> to work what the fuck happened—but he snatches his forgotten EMR from under his bed and hops on a train to Mako Reactor 1.</p><p>Tseng and Rude are already there when he arrives, so they’ve gotten over the shock of seeing the place completely torn to shreds, like the hurricane of the century razed through the entire compound. Sector 1 is off the grid, as are connected parts of Sectors 2 and 8. </p><p>“Avalanche?” he ventures, surveying the damage.</p><p>“Yes. We believe it to be the actions of their fringe, extremist chapter located in Sector 7.” Sector 7, eh? “But the mechanics of the bomb are far more advanced than their previous attempts.”</p><p>All the walls and the entire floor is nicked by what appears to be millions of tiny bullets. Reno takes a closer look and spots bits of shiny multicolored <i>something</i>, scrapes his nails against it and remembers arms of steel, metal gloves, and multi-colored tin cans. </p><p>
  <i>Fuck.</i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>*</p>
</div><p>There’s too much work to spare another trip to Sector 7, especially when a second bomb goes off in Sector 5. President Shinra demands action, retribution, revenge, so Reno volunteers to investigate. Apparently Avalanche has a secret base located in a bar under the plate.</p><p>He’s antsy the entire train ride over and he’s on his feet before the train rolls to a stop, pushes past pedestrians and hightails it straight to Seventh Heaven. Runs down winding streets that lead toward a line of food stalls, skirts past a parked chocobo carriage, until he reaches a familiar alleyway where he spies a familiar head of sweeping black hair. <i>Tifa.</i> Tifa, dressed like sex in a skin-tight blue dress, a scrap of lace ribboned around her neck, a plunging neckline that leaves nothing to the imagination, hem flicking up at the ends and barely covering bare legs that go on for miles, a pair of stiletto high heels made for stepping all the fuck over him. Her hair breezes behind her as she walks and she looks like a dream, like a goddamn nightmare, and the only thing that jogs his brain back into working order is realizing she’s walking straight for that chocobo carriage.</p><p>It’s a Corneo carriage. </p><p>
  <i>Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.</i>
</p><p>He sprints, tackles her before she makes it out of the alleyway. She ducks under his arms and pulls him into a headlock, elbow under his chin, tits pressed against his back, a single kitten heel sharp over his loafers. Goddamn what a woman. </p><p>He sputters and she startles. “Reno?” Loosens her hold which allows him to spin around to slam her against the wall. “What are you—” </p><p>“Is that your carriage?” he asks, voice deathly low, and her eyes widen, then harden.</p><p>“That’s really none of your business.” </p><p>She tries to break free but he crushes her with his body. “You can’t need the money that much.”</p><p>“Reno, let go.” </p><p>She could make him let go but she doesn’t, her eyes are dark and lidded and her chest heaves with every shallow breath. He grinds against her center and she moans. “You really gonna say this is none of my business?”</p><p>When she doesn’t reply, he moves his palms over her tits, feels her nipples harden instantly through too thin fabric. She’s not wearing a bra again. </p><p>“I have to—”</p><p>“You don’t have to do <i>anything</i>,” he hisses, palming her desperately. Not for him, not for Avalanche, and certainly not for Don Corneo. Pops her tits right out of her dress and runs his mouth and hands all over her as she keens achingly into his touch. </p><p>She tries to push his face away with her hands, but there’s not a single ounce of strength in it. “N-no, I really gotta—” Oh, no she doesn’t, he sucks her fingers into his mouth and she gasps, and he takes the chance to ruck her dress onto her thighs and press his cock fully into her drenched little thong. </p><p>“How much to fuck you against this wall, Tifa?” </p><p>Her lidded eyes widen and for a brief moment he’s afraid he’s gone too far, asked for too much, but then they blaze with determination and absolute molten fire. She opens her sinful little mouth to name her price but it doesn’t matter, he’ll pay anything, he’ll drag her out of this hell hole and never let her go, so he undoes his belt and pushes aside her thong and sinks straight into her tight pussy with a hiss. “Tell me what Shinra’s planning to do with Ava—lanche.”</p><p>Wait, what? </p><p>Her eyes flutter as he twitches inside her, but her gaze is steely when it meets his. Oh god his cock is so fucking stupid, he replays every encounter with her in his head and realizes just then that she’s not just the owner of the bar where Avalanche happens to congregate—she’s <i>one</i> of them and <i>he’s</i> one of the assholes she’s trying to beat up, but fuck him she’s so hot and wet and clenching tight around him, he thrusts deeper into her to buy time for his voice to come back.</p><p>“No,” he groans against her neck.</p><p>Thank fuck she’s also distracted and needy, her hands clinging to the front of his jacket, pulling him in. “Wait, no?”</p><p>“Can’t. Top secret shit.” Also she’s like the enemy now and why the fuck is that even hotter? He thrusts again and it wrecks them both.</p><p>“Then get oooout,” she moans, but it’s not much of a threat when she’s panting hard, rocking her hips to match his rhythm. </p><p>“Can’t do that either,” he grunts. “Do you trust me?”</p><p>“Of course I don’t!” </p><p>“Smart fucking woman.” He thrusts again and she bites into the leather lining of his shoulders to stifle her pleasure, yanks on the back of his ponytail in revenge and <i>fuck</i> does it feel good. “You got a room nearby?”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“<i>Where</i>.” He sucks on her neck as she nips at his ear.</p><p>“Stargazer Heights.” Oh is that the name? And no shit, she was right there all along when he was? </p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because it’s close, and if we’re gonna talk, we gotta do it in private. None of this shady back alley wheeling and dealing shit.” </p><p>He trails off and she frowns. “But?” </p><p>“But I <i>also</i> don’t want want to stop fucking you right now.”</p><p>“Wha—”</p><p>“Yer gonna have to let go of my jacket.” She does, if only in confusion, and he takes the opportunity to palm her ass and lift her right into the air, and she presses her back against the wall, hands clutching at his scalp, ankles wrapping tight around his waist on instinct. Smart fucking woman. He sheds his jacket with a bit of breathy trouble, eases her back off the wall so there’s enough space to slip his jacket around her waist, lets the sleeves dangle on either side of her before repositioning his hands under her ass. “Tie it.”</p><p>She laughs in disbelief, which means she catches on quick. “You can’t be serious.” But she does and even adjusts the sides of his jacket to cover her entire ass and as much of her thighs as possible. He bounces her experimentally and gravity sinks her even deeper onto him, bucking her forehead into his shoulder, wrestling a grunt from his lips.</p><p>“We’re not gonna make it.”</p><p>“Maybe <i>you</i> won’t,” he says with more bravado than he truly feels because she’s absolutely dripping wet all over his cock, soaking the front of his pants, and this whole situation is insane and so much fucking hotter for it. “Can’t believe you had a room right here all this time and still chose to get fucked in an alley.” He begins walking and every step brings with it earth shattering friction. “D-do you get off on almost getting caught?”</p><p>“No more th-than you,” she pants against his shoulder, as they leave the darkened alleyway for dimly lit streets, completely in the open and still joined together. </p><p>“Be quiet or you’ll draw attention,” he hisses, and she replies by clenching her muscles tight around his cock, which nearly has him missing a step and sending them sprawling to the ground for the whole goddam Sector to see, but definitely has him grunting with impossible pleasure.</p><p>“You first.” She’s so smug, this fucking woman.</p><p>They make it to the hotel without incident. There are only slum drunks littering the streets, too wasted to even notice that people are fucking right in front of them with every step, but it doesn’t make the journey any less wicked fun.</p><p>“What room?”</p><p>“Second fl—” she cuts off and they’re both thinking it now. <i>Stairs.</i> His pulse quickens and her breath hitches in anticipation as he lifts one leg to place onto the first step and then— </p><p>A door opens.</p><p>“Tifa, dear, is that you?”</p><p>“M-Marle!” she squeaks, and Reno groans, what did he fucking say about staying quiet. Now the old woman proprietor is staring daggers into his back, and Tifa can’t even face her, presses her burning face into Reno’s chest, arms tight around his neck.</p><p>“You’re back earlier than expected, dear,” Marle trails off suspiciously. “And this young man is…carrying you.”</p><p>She yanks on his ponytail and he grunts. “She, uh, sprained her ankle. Too much pain to talk. I’m taking her to her room.”</p><p>“And you decided to carry her…on your front?”</p><p>“Just got a back tattoo. Stings like a bitch.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“I’m fine, Marle,” Tifa finally pipes up, shifting her hips so she can meet the old lady’s eyes over his shoulder, which sends another wave of pleasure crashing onto them both. He bites on her shoulder to stifle a groan. “G-good night!”</p><p>He doesn’t know if he’s more excited by the prospect of getting away or getting caught, but when Marle bids them good night and retreats into her room, Reno doesn’t waste another second, thunders up the stairs and clutches desperately at her ass as she bounces on top of him, tits pressed into his chest, skin slapping and slick where they meet, her moans growing more whiny and needy into his ear as they reach her door and fuck where is the key. She fumbles with it longer than he can stand, literally shaking on his last legs, but when he slams the door on the outside world and tosses her onto the bed they both groan loud and deep and thoroughly wanton.</p><p>“Shinra—” she gasps, but he sticks his tongue in her mouth and tastes every last inch of her he wants her, he wants her so bad, he wants her screaming with him when she comes, and he rips the ribbon from her neck to let her tits breathe and she’s tugging the rest of his pants down before popping off his shirt buttons with fingers of fucking steel. </p><p>When he breaks for air she whines, “I need answers.” And he pulls back and slams right into her, rattling the entire bedframe and growls against her throat, “You’ll get paid when we’re done.” Pulls back and slams into her again and again and he still can’t believe it, she was right down the hall from him all this time and he didn't even know it. Right here when he was jerking himself off to the memory of her tits and her hot pussy, wondering what it would feel like to be inside but nothing in his entire life could prepare him for her, <i>fuck.</i></p><p>“Did you come back to your room and think of me?” He has to know. “Did you fuck yourself thinking of me?”</p><p>“You don’t get answers if I don’t,” she hisses and why the hell is her attitude so fucking hot? How can every goddamn thing about her be so fucking hot? She claims his bruised jaw with her mouth, and he’s on fire, nearly there, can’t control it anymore because she’s writhing and shaking beneath him, hands on his bare ass pounding him into her, but he needs her to come first, lowers his thumb to her clit and she explodes over the edge with his name on her lips and he pulls out screaming hers as he explodes onto clean lavender sheets. </p><p>They lie next to each other, winding down from their highs, knowing that once it ends they’re gonna have to talk and it sucks. They’re gonna have to be enemies and it really fucking sucks.</p><p>“So,” he says, finally, breaking their ceasefire when she can’t seem to find her nerve. “Did you know I was a Turk from the start?” Her eyes soften, troubled, and he knows he got it in one. Sits up on her bed and starts rummaging for his clothes, hopping with both legs into his slacks. “Got you an inside man, a Shinra schmuck to fund your new boom, huh? Clever. How many others you fu—?”</p><p>“There weren’t any others,” Tifa grits, sitting up and crossing her arms under those delicious tits still hanging out of her dress. Focus. “This wasn’t even supposed to be my part of the job! And need I remind you that <i>you</i> were the one who approached and propositioned me?”</p><p>She’s got him there. </p><p>“I was just supposed to be the garbage woman.”</p><p>“Huh.” So he was just a happy accident, convenient money, a clueless patsy. He’s not sure if that makes him feel any better. His jacket is hanging neatly on her bed post, weird he thought he lost it by the door, and shrugs it on even as Tifa says, “<i>Wait</i>,” jams his hands into the pockets and finds something wadded up into it. It’s a frilly scrap of torn fabric.</p><p>She kept his jacket.</p><p>He stares at her dumbly and her eyes blaze, full of fiery hot determination. “Join us.”</p><p>He blinks, cackles. “Who? Avalanche?”</p><p>“Yes!” Tifa says, alighting from her bed and taking his hand into hers. “Don’t you want to know what it feels like to have a purpose? You can be more than just a Shinra schmuck.” </p><p>“Shinra pays.”</p><p>“Is that all you want out of life, Reno? Money? Money won’t make a difference when they take everything from you.” Her voice quivers and her eyes brim with pain, anger. “Money can’t buy anything when the world ends.” </p><p>He stuffs her panties back into his pocket. “It bought you. For a few nights, anyway.” </p><p>She laughs, a scornful, trilling little sound. “Oh, sure, because if the world was ending, all you’d want is me.” He looks away—it’s not like he didn’t know he was being fucking stupid, but it’s another thing that she’s laughing about it.</p><p>When he doesn’t reply, she stops laughing. “Wait, Reno—” </p><p>“Told you to stop underselling yourself,” he huffs, tries to remove his hand from hers but she holds on tight.</p><p>She’s doe-eyed and stammering, “Look, I mean, if that’s really it. If you want me—you could have me.” </p><p>Fucking hell. “You’re really all in for the cause, huh? Even give up your body just to get some Shinra schmuck on your side?”</p><p>“No, you stupid idiot,” Tifa whispers, staring down at their joined hands. “I did…”</p><p>“Did what?”  </p><p>She colors prettily. “Fuck myself thinking of you.”</p><p>He wheezes then, fucking hell, goddamn what a woman. He could kiss her again. He could love her, probably. Shit, he’s fucking crazy and crazy about her. She’s the type of broad to get a man all fucked up in the head and careless and romantic. The kind of woman men go to war for, that men wanna become some kinda hero for. The most dangerous kinda woman. “I ain’t joining Avalanche.”</p><p>Her hands retreat. “Ah.”</p><p>“But tonight—maybe you evacuate the Sector. Slowly. Be discrete about it. Start with the areas right under the pillar. Make sure everyone gets out.”</p><p>Her eyes widen, catching on quick. “They’re gonna drop the plate.”</p><p>He kisses her then, fiercely, boldly, with everything he’s got. “Not if I can stop it.”</p><p>After all, what’s he got to lose?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was enabled by way too many people I adore (and it SHOWS), but particularly dedicated to BouncyMouse, Scribbleness, and Ushijoy, who have already delivered or promised shiny things in return. Pleasure doing back alley business with you ladies. (And Bouncy, I hope Reno can forgive you now and our brains can change back LMAO. &lt;3)</p><p>With a very special shout-out to Ash, who likened Reno to a sad animu boy lamenting, “I wanna feel tits.” And then this whole thing happened.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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